It's Simple, It's Love
by Julia9
Summary: A sequel to When the Dust Settles (my post-Chosen fic), Buffy thinks about Spike and their life together
1. In the Early Light of Day

Even now, watching the sunlight flicker over his face, I still can't believe that he's here. That the steady rise and fall of his chest is due to necessity rather then decades of practice.  
  
Lying here with my head pillowed in the space between his shoulder and neck, I can hear the comforting rhythm of his heart beat.  
  
It feels so right, so natural, but so strange at the same time. Not really strange, just different.  
  
His hair is growing out now, dark roots crowding the familiar platinum locks. He refuses to bleach it though, saying that he wants to try a different style. This coming from the same guy who wore black jeans for at least thirty years. Hell, they were probably the same exact pair, knowing him.  
  
Which I don't, not really. At least I don't think I do.  
  
I thought I knew exactly who he was. But that was before.  
  
Before the First, before the soul, before Sunnydale, before.well, before everything. Before I pushed him to the breaking point and he finally snapped.  
  
Even after he got the soul, I thought I still knew him. I thought I understood what was going on inside his head.  
  
But I didn't. I know that now. I'll never tell him, though.  
  
He'll never know that I'm scared.  
  
Scared of pushing him away. Scared of losing him. Scared of shutting him out. Scared that I'm not good enough, that I'm not exactly what he wants.  
  
I won't tell him, because he's happy now. At leas that's what he says. Not like he'd ever tell me otherwise.  
  
Or would he? I don't know anymore.  
  
We're so different now, the world of vampires and darkness seems like it was a lifetime ago. I wonder what he's going to say when I tell him the news. When I share my secret, the one I've been keeping for three days.  
  
I wish I could tell him right now, but I want to wait for the right moment, the perfect moment.  
  
It's so hard keeping this a secret from him, especially now, after all we've been through. After everything that he's been through.  
  
My hand feels so heavy crushed beneath his shoulder, my arm pinned under his back. My ring finger is being cut in half, the platinum and diamond ring squeezing my skin in a vice-like grip. I can feel the skin pinching between the two bands and I wish I could move my hand to adjust them.  
  
But that would wake him up. I'll never tell him how I have to shake the pins and needles out of my arm every morning in the shower, because I know how much he loves to sleep when we're wrapped up together.  
  
I still can't believe how much he likes to sleep. I never thought about how different it must be to sleep at night after spending a hundred plus years napping through the day.  
  
He still hates the sun though; I think he's afraid of getting burned. Or it's just habit. Which is still weird, because he's had ages to get used to it. Six months, in fact.  
  
No, I'm wrong, it's been seven months. Seven months on Tuesday. I  
forgot.  
  
I always forget things like that.  
  
Like our two month anniversary. Forgot all about that. He didn't though. Not like he would ever forget something like that. He remembers every little occasion, every date, every special day.  
  
It's almost Christmas. And I'm definitely not going to forget that. I figure that'll be when I tell him, that's what I'm waiting for.  
  
I wonder if it'll snow. We're in New York now, so it's possible. It's defiantly cold enough to snow, even though he says that if it's too cold it won't snow. But I'm still hoping.  
  
It's been years since I walked outside in the snow, wet flakes sticking to my hair, my nose turning red. Was it four years ago? No, I'm wrong again, it was five. Back in California. But that was different, it wasn't Christmas snow, and it wasn't with him. So that day doesn't count, does it?  
  
He's waking up now, I can tell. I wonder how many nights he held me like this and froze the instant he felt my body begin to wake, counting the minutes until I ran away. But that was before; I'm tired of running now.  
  
I wish I could move further up the pillow, so I could look at his face. But I'm too comfortable here.  
  
He looks so handsome when he sleeps.  
  
I wonder what I did to deserve this; the new house, a second chance, him.  
  
"Morning sweetheart."  
  
I didn't even notice his eyes were open, but there they are, endless pools of blue. Not really blue, because that's such inadequate color to describe them, but I don't know what else to say. He's the one with all the words.  
  
They're dark, almost black when he's angry, crystal and clear when he isn't. His eyes see the outside world, but inside them, I see him. I see his love for me and I see what a good man he is.  
  
"Hey," I whisper, leaning up to kiss his cheek because my head is firmly wedged on its makeshift pillow. But he doesn't worry about such things. The arm wrapped around my waist pulls me up until I'm practically on top of him.  
  
I hope I'm not crushing him. Now I'm convinced that he can read my mind because he's us turning over so that we're lying on our sides, our faces inches apart. I like this position better though, I love to see his eyes when he tells me.  
  
"I love you."  
  
I smile up at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. That's his morning ritual; say good morning, tell me that he loves me and then he kisses me senseless.  
  
Today's no exception. I can feel myself melting into him as he trails a line of open-mouthed kisses down my neck.  
  
"What," he asks and I realize that I've been staring up at him. Shaking my head, I reply, "nothing, just thinking." His eyebrows come together but before he can say anything I continue. "I love you."  
  
He smiles, that genuine grin that he reserves for just me. Some people have bedroom eyes, he has a bedroom smile. But that's just another reason why I love him.  
  
I do love him, so much that sometimes it hurts. I wish I had told him before, but whenever I bring it up, he shrugs off my apologies, telling me to concentrate on the present.  
  
He leans over again, kissing me with a passion I hadn't even dreamed of before I met him. When we finally break apart, I'm panting for air and he's grinning in that self-satisfied way, like he's still the Big Bad.  
  
He is though, only now he's my Big Bad. No more vamps, no more Slayers. Just us, my love and I, together, forever. 


	2. Just an Ordinary Day

I can hear his car before he turns into the driveway; he must have the sunroof open again because the punk music is floating through the kitchen window. Reaching across the table, I take a sip of my tea before turning my attention back to the pile of papers. His papers, they're filled with his words. I'm glad that he finally let me read them, after all I did have to put up with the notebooks he left all over the house and the scattered crumbled wads of paper thrown around his office.  
  
"Hey pet. How're my girls?"  
  
Turning my head to the side, I can see his smiling face, the carefree one that he has on Fridays after his last class of the week. His eyes are twinkling, sparkling with the knowledge that his classroom will be empty for three days and that we might actually get some time to ourselves.  
  
"Good. How was your day," I ask, leaning in for a kiss. Never one to deny his girl, Spike leans down, his lips gently brushing mine before he tangling his hands in my hair and deepens the kiss. When he pulls away, I raise my eyebrows expectantly, waiting for an answer.  
  
He grimaces and I have to laugh at the sight of his lightly tanned forehead scrunching up and his dark eyebrows coming together in a v.  
  
"That good, huh?"  
  
"Something like that sweetheart."  
  
Moving around the table to sit beside me, Spike throws his jacket on an empty chair, the black leather pooling across the seat. It's not his duster but it's still familiar. I told him that no one was going to hire him as a professor with a jacket that looks like it's been through the apocalypse and back. And let's not even get started on the fight we had over his hair.  
  
I voted for his natural color, a soft brown that I surprisingly found looked sexy. But he overruled me, saying that maybe he'd grow it out in two months, saving the natural color for a time when school's out and it's just us. I just think he still wants to feel like the Big Bad. Not that I'm complaining.  
  
Spike voice brings me out of my musings; he's still talking about his day, even though I haven't been paying attention.  
  
"Sometimes I don't know why I bother, y'know luv? Buffy?"  
  
Waving his hand in front of my face, he leans in closer, his eyes gazing intently into mind. I feel like I'm drowning in the twin pools of sapphire blue. I smile apologetically, my mind slowly coming back to the present moment. Shaking his head, Spike just continues to stare at me, his tongue curling behind his front teeth. I shiver involuntarily, hating how he can turn me into a puddle of goo with a simple look.  
  
"You alright there sweetheart?"  
  
I nod, my hand resting on the swell of my stomach as I lean back in the chair. This time I'm paying attention.  
  
"Yeah, just zoned out for a minute. I'm back now."  
  
Spike just shrugs and keeps talking.  
  
"Like I was saying, I have to figure out a curve for this damn exam. Can't have half my bloody class failing. I mean is it that difficult to read two books? In three weeks no less?"  
  
"I didn't think so."  
  
Sometimes I don't understand why Spike does it, why he stands in front of a class of college students three days a week. Especially when he doesn't have to. That's the part that I really don't understand, not that I'm complaining or anything.  
  
He didn't tell me until we were on our honeymoon, lying in bed our first night in the hotel, the Eiffel Tower all lit up outside our window. I was shocked to say the least. I mean who would have thought that Spike was worth more then most Fortune 500 CEOs? Hell I was surprised to find out that he had money in savings, much less that the balance in his accounts was more money then I'd ever seen.  
  
But even so, Spike still insisted on getting a real job, saying something about proving himself worthy. I didn't ask, I think it's some of that old Victorian mindset where women depended on their husbands to provide for the family.  
  
Right after we left Sunnydale, we talked about me going back to college, but that's still a long way off. I've got so much more to think about now; Dawn's starting to look at schools, Giles keeps calling me about Council rebuilding stuff, and then there's the baby to think about. Sometimes I don't even know where the time goes, my life began again the day Spike came back to me and it just seems to keep spiraling faster and faster.  
  
"You even listening to me pet?"  
  
I look over at Spike and he's leaning back in his chair, perching on the back two legs, the same way Dawn sits before he tells her that she's going to fall and smash her head open. My cheeks flush red and I look down. Spike chuckles, the chair falling back on all four legs as he reaches over to brush a loose piece of hair off my cheek. Somehow no matter what I do with my front layers they also seem to fall across my eyes.  
  
Leaning into his touch, my eyes drift shut with a contented sigh.  
  
"I love you."  
  
The words seem to fall on their own accord and I can imagine the smile on his face. No matter how many times I say those three words, it doesn't ever seem to be enough. I just can't help but remembering how close I was to losing him forever. A year ago we were getting ready to take on the ultimate evil, wondering if an army of teenage girls and rag-tag demon fighters was going to be enough. And looking back, I don't know if they were. In the dark recesses of my mind I want to believe that it was love that defeated the First, that Spike and I in some hopeless romantic way conquered the supreme evil through love and forgiveness.  
  
"Love you too pet."  
  
Before he can say anything else, the telephone rings and I glance at the clock. It's just a few minutes after five, time for Dawn to be calling and asking for a ride home. She's always there late, working on the yearbook or fixing something for the newspaper. The last few months she's been at play rehearsals, opening night is in two weeks and we can't wait.  
  
I'm glad that she's keeping busy and that she gave up on her idea of being the next Slayer. Last I heard, she wants to be a lawyer. At least we don't need to worry about that for a while, I just want her to finish the next two years of high school.  
  
Spike covers the mouthpiece of the cordless phone. It's Friday which means that it's take-out night and tonight it's Dawn's turn to choose.  
  
"Nibblet says she's in the mood for Morelli's if that's alright with you."  
  
I nod in approval, "yeah that's fine, just make sure you get me that cheese and bread thing."  
  
Amazed that I still cannot remember the name of the foods I like and still rely on vague descriptions, Spike turns back to the phone call. "She said that's fine . And she wants a calzone . get one of the big ones and I'll finish it if she doesn't .. And get me that shrimp scampi..the special, yeah that one .. Alright Nibblet, I'm leaving now..see you in a few."  
  
Hanging up the phone, Spike turns back to me. "I'm heading over to pick up Dawn and we'll get dinner on the way home."  
  
I smile, already starting to clean up the layer of papers covering the tabletop.  
  
"Be careful."  
  
"Always luv," he says and with another kiss that leaves me weak in the knees, Spike is out the door. Smoothing out the rumpled fabric of my pink shirt, I shake my head, amazed at how much of a difference a year makes. 


End file.
